***
Written By
Michael Gray
***
Chapter 1 – Of Cabbages and Kings
September
13, 2383…
Jack
McCall stepped off the tram on the outskirts of Pierce Valley, Nebraska and
closed his eyes, taking in two lungs full of fresh air. There was something
about breathing atmosphere which hadn’t been run through a starship’s life
support system that seemed so right. It had all the smells which made it real.
It possessed the sweetness he remembered, but... there was something missing.
He
smiled. The smoke from burning wood no longer floated on the air. A pity, he
thought. He'd always loved that smell.
Jack
opened his eyes. He was home.
His
trip from Yed Post IV to Earth had been unusual for
him. Instead of a starship or even a Starfleet shuttle, he’d had to avail
himself of two commercial transports, with their layovers at two worlds along
the way, and for the final leg of his journey he bunked in the cargo hold of a
freighter. While it had its charms, he swore to himself he’d never fly on a
freighter again.
But
the important thing was those ships had brought him here.
The
town wasn't much larger than it had been five hundred years earlier when he'd
walked its dirt streets, or as they often were back then, mud streets. Most of
the buildings were of modern design now, but a couple looked much like they had
when Jack had last been here. He suspected they only appeared the same, but had
been rebuilt extensively with present day building materials.
In
front of the old courthouse stood a large sign reading: Pierce Valley
Historical Society
He
walked inside.
A
woman greeted him. “Hello.”
Jack
found her smile infectious, and thought her quite attractive. She had blond
hair, stood about five foot five, and appeared to be in her mid to late
forties. But there was something about her which seemed quite familiar.
“I'm
Jack McCall,” he said. “I had an appointment.”
She
offered her hand. “I'm Felicia Lowry.”
“Lowry?”
Jack asked. “Any relation to the Anne Lowry back in the eighteen seventies?”
“Yes,”
Felicia said. “My ancestor.” She looked at him, her smile only wavering a
moment. “I'd heard you had a connection to the area, Mr. McCall. I'm surprised
to find someone so aware of our history here.”
“Just
that of the late nineteenth century,” he said. “Much before and after that, I'm
just as clueless as most other people.”
She
smiled full on again. “I was told you have a claim on the McCall ranch. An
ancestor of yours?”
“Yes,”
Jack said, unable to be completely honest about his true connection to the
property. “The deed to the ranch specified the property would be returned to...
the Jack McCall of that time period, or to his descendants. That's me.”
She
nodded. “The ranch has been under the conservatorship of the Historical Society
for nearly four centuries after Jedediah Goodnight asked us to watch over it
until his boss returned. Of course, he never did.”
Jack
fought back a chuckle.
“It's
always been a great mystery as to what happened to your namesake,” Felicia
said. “You wouldn't happen to be able to shed any light on his final fate would
you?”
Jack
had been prepared for this question, and had been provided an answer by
Temporal Investigations. “All I know is he had gone back to the East Coast,
gotten involved with a number of investments. After he had passed away, his
children had moved to Ohio.”
“Goodnight
had said McCall had left with his wife.”
“He
had,” Jack said. That much was true. “It's my understanding from the family
history that he had indeed sent word to Goodnight about the property, but
evidently the letters had never arrived.”
“Goodnight
mentioned he had the local postmaster keep a close eye out for any
correspondence from McCall. I understand there had been trouble between McCall
and the Prange family.”
Jack
nodded. “They had spent considerable time hunting him down. I suspect that's
why he went to the East coast, and never came back—to protect his family from
the Prange family.”
“That's
been my thinking too,” Felicia said. “I'd love to hear more information from
these family histories you talked about. Any chance I might read them?”
“Unfortunately,
it has come down mostly as an oral history rather than written,” Jack said.
“But I'll see if I can find any reference material from the family archives.”
He
knew no such thing existed, but also that it was better for him to suggest he'd
look rather than have some historian seek out the non-existent documents on
their own.
“I
assume you’d like to go up to the ranch?” she asked.
“I
would, yes.”
She
nodded and went back to a desk farther into the large hall. She opened a drawer
and pulled out a set of keys. “We usually leave it locked up except in the
Summer when we conduct tours of the place.” She frowned a moment. “I'd like to
talk to you about possibly allowing us to continue that practice at least
through the main rooms of the house.”
“I'll
want to see how the place is laid out first,” Jack said, feigning ignorance.
“But I'd like to be able to accommodate you.”
She
walked back to him, the keys in hand. “If you don't mind me asking, what made
you want to take up residence all of a sudden in a house no one has lived in
for five centuries?”
“I've
always wanted to live there from the first time I'd heard stories about it,”
Jack said. “But life always seemed to get in the way. Fortunately, my life
became less complicated recently, and I remembered the house, and thought I'd
give it a go.”
“I
do hope you don't intend to make many changes,” Felicia said.
“Oh,
no,” he said. “I want it remain exactly how it was five hundred years ago.”
***
Jack
and Felicia walked up the hill to the ranch as the sky was becoming overcast, a
golden hue covered everything. A sign just outside the main house read: The
McCall Ranch – An Authentic Nineteenth Century Cattle Ranch.
One
thing caught Jack's eye immediately. The walls of the main house had been
painted white.
“We're
the walls originally left in their natural wood color?” he asked, knowing the
answer already.
“That
is a point of contention,” Felicia said as they passed the front gate. “There
are some records which indicate that, however, there is a photograph of the
house from eighteen eighty-three which shows the house as having white outer
walls.”
“I
suppose Goodnight might have had it painted,” he said, remembering Jedediah had
always groused about the natural wood finish of the walls, often begging Jack
to let him take paint to them.
“I
had always assumed McCall had asked him to paint the house.”
Jack
found himself frowning at that. Jedediah just might have told people that.
Okay,
Jed. You win that one. The walls will remain white.
They
entered the house, and Jack had the amazing feeling he was back again.
“This
is home,” he whispered.
Felicia
turned to him and smiled. “I've always thought it had a warmth to it that said
home. It just feels lived in, and... that it should be lived it. However, my
historian's sense goes into a full blown panic at the
thought.”
“What's
your area of specialty?” Jack asked.
“North
American history from the European invasion to First Contact,” she said.
Jack
almost chuckled. The people he knew five hundred years ago would have exploded
at the thought of their taming the North American continent as an invasion. But
history had a way of giving a perspective that those at the time would find
difficult to swallow. Jack wondered how his time might be viewed in five
hundred years. He had no illusions that he'd receive an entry in that history,
but he was curious at how things he took for granted as normal might be seen as
anything but that by those who would look back.
He
smiled as they entered the kitchen. It still had the same look as it had when
he'd lived here. He smiled wide at the notch in the wooden counter at the far
end of the sink. That had been where Jedediah had dropped a hammer he'd been
waving in an animated fashion as he tried to explain to Jack how they had to
get the cattle out to market three weeks earlier than Jack had wanted.
“There
was one thing I needed to bring up,” Felicia said.
“Yes?”
Jack asked, turning to her and away from the memories flooding his mind.
“If
you intend to take possession of the ranch and the house, there are maintenance
issues which need to be attended to. The Historical Society had covered those
with its standard allowance from the solar power fund. But if you're taking
responsibility for the ranch which has been classified as an historical
landmark, you will be required to continue the maintenance in full per...”
“I'm
not familiar with this at all,” Jack said, confused by all that she was saying.
He was aware the Historical Society had certain claims to the ranch being
maintained as a historical site, and while he had assumed he’d have to come to
some arrangement about the maintenance, he had never been informed about him
needing to provide the resources to do so.
“A
hundred years ago, all personal property which was designated as an historical
site was required to be maintained in its pristine historical condition
otherwise a public entity such as the various historical and archaeological
societies on Earth would take responsibility and ownership would be turned over
to a public trust. Before that too many sites had been altered from their
historical condition.”
“Oh,”
Jack said. He wished this had been explained to him when he had asked Temporal
Investigations to look into the status of the property. He suspected this might
be giving them a chuckle given his current circumstances.
He
turned to her. “I get a monthly service stipend in addition to the standard
universal allotment.”
“That's
good,” she said. “The maintenance required for this location can take up
considerable resources. I just wanted you to be aware of that.”
He
smiled. “Are you trying to convince me to leave the place in the care of the Historical
Society by any chance?”
She
grinned. “Do I come off as if I had rehearsed this conversation about a dozen
times over the last week?”
“Something
like that.”
She
laughed. “Guilty.”
“I
understand.”
“It's
just this has been a favorite site of mine to care for,” Felicia said. “I want
to make sure it's well maintained for future generations.”
He
leaned against the kitchen counter. He smiled at the creak in the wood as it
took his full weight just as it used to centuries ago. “Why this particular
place?”
“My
parents used to bring me here when I was little,” she said. “I became
fascinated with it and the history of Pierce Valley. It inspired me to become a
historian and when I had the opportunity after getting my Ph.D,
I decided to live here.”
“You
live in town?”
She
grinned. “Actually, I live in the same house as that ancestor of mine you
mentioned earlier.”
“Next
to the schoolhouse?”
Her
eyes widened. “You do know a lot about this town.”
Jack
could see in her eyes she suspected something unusual about him. He just had to
make sure she didn't make a connection to his Starfleet service and the town in
a way which made her consider time travel. The goons in Temporal Investigations
would give him ten types of hell if he raised those kinds of suspicions. He was
in enough trouble these days without catching their attention. Keeping that
secret was a condition of allowing him to get the property signed over to him.
“I
remember Anne Lowry was a school teacher.”
“During
that time period, she was the only teacher for all the town's children.”
“Oh?”
But he knew that.
She
stared at him. “You look so familiar.”
“Well...”
She must have recognized him from photos from that time period. That bastard Murdoch
took pictures of him for his damn newspaper when Jack had stopped the Prange
boy from robbing the bank. And Anne Lowry...
My
god, Jack thought. Anne Lowry would have been killed in that bank robbery. This
woman standing before him hadn't existed until Jack had prevented the robbery
and saved Anne Lowry's life.
“I
know,” Felicia said. “I saw images of you with that archaeologist, Mei-Wan
Lau.”
Jack
took a long breath to calm himself. It wasn't as he feared.
“She
used to be my wife,” Jack said.
“Used
to be?”
“We
were divorced a couple of years ago.”
Felicia
nodded. “Me too.”
“Sorry,”
he said.
“I'm
not.”
Jack
smiled at her.
“You
had lunch yet?” Felicia asked.
